Right, Cynthia?
by ToiletWater
Summary: A fanfiction inspired by The Rugrats Theory. After undergoing repeated traumas, Angelica develops a fantasy world that eventually grows into a mental disorder. More information inside.


Prologue: The Calm Before the Storm

A/N: I heard of the Rugrat's Theory and, after listening to the Vocaloid version of the song about a million times, I decided I was going to do a fanfiction of it. The stories I found were all pretty un-detailed, and I thought it would be fun to flesh out the theory a little. Also, most of you who are like me and know the story from back to front will notice that I've tweaked things in certain places. That is for two reasons; one, that it makes more sense, and two, that it adds to the story. I'm going to have my fun with this. If you don't know the theory, you can research it and find at least a good creepypasta on it. The theory states that Cynthia the doll was a representation of Cynthia, Angelica's mother, whom Angelica consciously forgot but subconsciously still remembered.  
I'm also sorry if the prologue doesn't jump out and grab your attention. I wanted to start off with a short chapter in which nothing unusual happens in the life of Angelica, to give everyone a baseline.

"The best thing is playing with my doll," a two-and-a-half year old spontaneously told her mother, picking up her little doll with blonde hair. She turned to face her mother, who was sprawled out on the couch with her usual distant gaze. It looked like she was getting ready to fall asleep. Looking back, she picked up her craft scissors and started chopping away at the hair. "Now it looks like you, mommy!" she said, showing off her doll's new look.

"Very good," she responded distantly, her eyes opening slightly.

The little girl, however, frowned. Something wasn't quite right. After playing with the doll's hair for a second, she picked up her little glue bottle and squirted some out onto the remaining strands of hair, pulling them up so they stuck out. "There," she said, satisfied. "I'll name her Cynthia, just like you, mommy."

Her mother gave her a dull smile in response. "Very good," she repeated in a noncomittal fashion. Her left hand reached over to her right arm, sprawled with the under-side on top, and she casually pulled the needle out of her vein.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not for long," she told the two-year old, slowly untying the shoelace from the top of her arm. Her face and neck were red, and her breathing was odd. The little girl approached the couch and put a hand on one of her mother's legs.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." she responded, her voice as thin as air. "Go play."

"Okay, mommy."

She obediently sat down to play with the collection of toys she'd accumulated since sitting down. Every now and then, her mom would suddenly start giggling, but the two year old couldn't figure out for the life of her why. After a few times, she gave up on asking.

"It's nice to laugh, don't you think?" her mother said out of the blue a good while later.

"Yeah," she nodded, stacking up her blocks and placing the doll on top. It fell off within a couple second so, frowning, she picked it up and put it back.

"You should have as much fun as possible, dear." she added cryptically, with another dull smile on her face.

"I'm having fun," the little girl replied, watching as the doll fell again. With a sigh, she gave up and decided to just hold the doll.

"Good." her mother swayed and laughed strangely. "You only have one chance to be alive, Angelica. You should do whatever you want."

The two-year-old was struck speechless. All she could do for the moment was stare at her mother. Finally, she decided to just say "Okay."

Laughing oddly again, her mom said; "You'll understand, one day."

It got quiet after that. Her mother stood up and glanced around the room, but it didn't seem like she was really looking at anything. The toddler was actually sitting in a circle that was relatively clean, compared to the rest of the room. There was a small pile of laundry on the couch where she was just sitting- who knew if they were clean or not- and some of the little girl's clothes were scattered on the floor. The carpet was dirty. There were dead bugs on the window-sill, and live bugs flying around the room. She took the syringe she'd been using to the already full to over-flowing trash can in the kitchen, and threw it inside.

"Is it time for lunch, yet?"

"I guess," she sighed wearily, as if she was exhausted. She glanced around the kitchen, eyes settling on a cookie jar. It was on the counter at the other side of the room, so she had to walk over to open it. "Here," she told the girl, handing her a cookie. She grabbed it eagerly and started eating. "I think it's time for a nap,"

"Huh?"

"It's nap time," the woman stumbled in taking a step. "Come on, Angelica,"

The little girl sighed in disappointment and followed her mother. "Do I ihave/i to?"

"Yes," her mother swayed as she lowered herself onto the couch.

The toddler grabbed a blanket that had been strewn out on the floor and got into the recliner chair. "Night-night," she said, closing her eyes.

As usual, her mother didn't respond. She was already asleep.


End file.
